Monthly Archives: November 2011

. . .to do a little maintenance. After I put up the mention of the death of world class comedian, Patrice O’Neal, I went about other things like deleting spam. It’s all the normal crap one sees. But then there was one that would give a sane person pause.

“Okay post, but not the best Ive seen exactly. You should step it up or gulrotkake uten egg og melk will eat your position.”

As you’d assume, I became quite frightened. I was even starting to consider actually writing good stuff here. I mean, I don’t know what a gulrotkake uten egg og melk is but I’m sure I wouldn’t want it eating anything of mine.

Then I checked to see exactly what this horrible monster was. Imagine my surprise and, yes, horror, to find out that it is nothing more than a ‘carrot cake without eggs and milk.’

What kind of beast would inflict that on another person? That sounds horrible!

We’re settling down for dinner at the bar of this neighborhood restaurant. That’s code for, “We may or may not take to your kind ’round here.” At one of these establishments some time ago someone told me it was a ‘local’ place.

No shit, fucktard. Every place is a local place when you’re standing in it.

This place was so ‘hood it didn’t seem to take kindly to their own kind. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a plus to me. Neighborhood joints that are too inviting are annoying. The main problem with them is the person who starts talking to you is the one who’s annoyed every regular in the place so can’t wait for new meat to sacrifice.

We were at a place and four of us were sitting at the bar. Two people, an empty seat, two people. Just like the good lord decreed. We’d been having polite, fun conversation. Nothing heady, nothing taxing.

Suddenly, the fun screeches to a halt. Have you ever heard an explosion form sentences? That’s what was entering the establishment. That’s bad enough. It gets worse when he breaks the lords rule and sits between me and the other guy.

Why not stick you’re hands up our asses? We’re probably both due for a tune-up.

It didn’t take long for the others to retreat. The other examination patient whispered on the way out that he’d seen him there before. I knew that was a clue to screw but there was one problem. My sweetheart wasn’t quite done with her adult beverage. Okay, not a big deal. I have years of experience ignoring people. It’s one of my skills.

One I leave off the resume though. I’d rather them find that out on their own.

He’s barking about whatever’s on TV. I can feel the heat of his words pinging off my pate. I remain steadfast. He tries again. You can not sway me, Mr. Opinionated Fuckwad! I care not for your kind or, for that matter, your breath.

I would have offered him a mint from the reception desk but that would only cause interaction. I’m too smart for the old roadkill breath trick.

Because blowhard cannot exist in a vacuum , the assault dwindles. He orders food. Food comes. We’re still fucking there! Holy fuck! This place is either the fastest restaurant in the known world or my beloved is lingering. Yep, that’s the case.

Fuck it! Another beer I do order.

He’s eating. He’s talking. He’s trying, with all his best move, I assure you, to engage me.

To the point of, when he takes a fork-filled morsel to his mouth, he does so with his elbow in my side. Remember, by now there are many other seats around this bar. If I’m crowding him he can move.

Another ploy I’ve seen before! The old ‘you may be able to ignore my screaming directly into your ear hole but no one escapes the purposefully accidental nudge to the ribs.’ NO ONE can ignore that!

I take public transportation. He’s not even rush hour invasive.

The funny thing is, without an audience, without a bartender to occupy (who, I admit, did make himself busy ‘stocking’ the bar with items from the furthest reaches of the basement), he went grunting into that good bye you fucking obnoxious asshole night.

At the place I was talking about at the beginning of the story, we had none of that. It was thirty seats, twenty-seven people staring straight ahead. Why the discrepancy you ask? Because one guy was annoying the fuck out of this cringing couple.

I could tell the guy was a regular. Oh, you may be thinking, he sure has a high-esteem of his deductive reasoning. Well, yeah, you’d be right but, in this case it didn’t even take my highly honed skills.

He was wearing a shirt with the places name on it.

I look around and watch the other people make furtive glances and sideways smirks at each other. I understand. They’ve all suffered this dolt so are happy to have someone else the brunt of the action. It’s like being an abused kid. After awhile you don’t really mind when your brother gets a turn.

But it was bugging me. I saw the nice couple had no skills to repel such a rebarbative fellow. I got up and walked around the bar. It was on the way to the bathroom so it had the air of normalcy.

I reach the trio and, as I attempted to squeeze past the man, said to the group,

“Hey,” I look directly at the now fully stricken couple. “Anyone like impressions?” I look at the guy then back to the couple. “It’s a good one and it’ll only take a second.”

They all turn to me, I look at the couple.

“My impression,” I turn and look dead straight into the bothersome gents eyes. “Is that these people want you to shut the fuck up!”

You know something? I was right about that couple. They were very nice. They bought us a round.

I’m standing next to a married man while he ogles a woman. Just so you know, guys look but ogling removes every trace of subtly. Between lips smacks and brow wiping he says, ignoring what the acronym he’s using stands for,

Many people don’t think I pay attention. But I do. Maybe not to the same thing you do but, trust me, I pay attention.

Sometimes I’ll be paying attention to something and, if there’s really nothing going on, I’ll make up my own scenarios. Give the people back story based on a movement, a word, the manner of dress. Many of those situations creep into the things I write.

Other times I get a full blown life played out right in front of me. During those times I just sit back and enjoy. My own personal 3-D theater experience whose only admission is perfect timing.

I’m waiting for the bus outside work. We’ve been closed over an hour but it’s not too unusual for cars to pull up to the building when we’re closed. People are stupid, after all. I see one so head into the kiosk for a little protection (it’s my experience if they see me they’ll try to talk me into opening – ‘For just a minute!’ – or just annoy me when I’m not being paid to be annoyed by them) and watch the proceedings. It’s often funny to see how badly they freak out when they realize the building is shut tight.

Two guys (younger black guy, older white guy) get out of the car but don’t seem to be paying much attention to the closed building. There could be a logical explanation (they’re waiting for someone on a bus) but I have an inkling that’s not the situation. They seem to be formatting a plan.

I watch as the black guy, pulling his hoodie hood over his head, heads across the parking lot while the white guy laid back. I watch the black guy enter the drug store then the white guy slowly walk over.

Then nothing for about five minutes.

Suddenly the black guy runs up to the car, opens the back door, tosses the booty hidden in his jacket in, tears off his jacket, then the hoodie, then a t-shirt (revealing a different colored t-shirt), tosses it all in the back, closes the door then runs to the passenger side, opens the door, gets in, sits and shuts the door.

Less than a minute goes by when the manager comes fast walking in the general direction his perp was seen heading. He’s scanning the area. Seeing no one other than me (not a suspect) and a guy slumped down in a car (yes, he is of color but there’s no jacket, no hoodie, and the t-shirt is a different color). He walks past the car to the end of the building, looks one way, nothing, heads in the other where he is out of view for a couple of minutes.

The black guy gets out of the car to scan the parking lot. He must see the white guy because he waves frantically before jogging back to the car. He slumps down just as the manager enters the parking area. The white guy sees the manager so heads away from the car. The manager, still scanning the area, sees the white guy, who has his arms wrapped around his midsection, but quickly dismisses him. The manager actually passes smack in the middle of the car and white guy with each of his robbers within arms reach.

Due diligence duly done, the dejected manager begins to head back to his sullied store. Once the manager has his back to him, the white guy quick steps to the car, starts it up and they pull away.

I’ve told this story a few times over the week and the resounding response has been that I am a total asshole for not being a crime buster. I can see that point. Society breaks down when people turn a blind eye. But I didn’t so fuck you and your self-righteousness. I had to let the story unfold naturally. Besides, why didn’t the manager at least ask the guy in the car if he saw anything? Why didn’t he ask me?

But the actual reason I didn’t help was more selfish. I wanted to see it unfold to it’s natural conclusion. How else would I get the opening scene for the crime caper comedy that’s been bouncing around my head?